Chapter Thirteen #2
He was pleading and her guilt was magnified. Whether or not she meant to be cruel to the man, she was being so nonetheless. She walked over to him, gazing into his fat face, his sincere brown eyes. She felt a good deal of pity for him. Impulsively, she put a hand on his sweaty cheek.
“You are a good man, my lord,” she said softly. “I thank you for your patience. I would ask for a little more.”
The hand on his cheek undid him. He closed his eyes to her touch, having waited a very long time for contact of this magnitude. He instinctively put his fat hand over hers, feeling a very great longing at that moment.
“I know I am not the prize you had hoped for, Avalyn,” he said quietly. “I am not a handsome man, nor finely mannered, nor even great at conversation. But I promise I will make the best husband that I can possibly make.”
She smiled; she couldn’t help it. He so desperately wanted to please her. “You are all of those things, my lord,” she said softly. “You must not diminish yourself.”
He gazed deeply into her soft golden eyes. “May I ask another question?”
“Aye.”
“I pray that you will not become upset by it, for I do not mean it in a slanderous manner.”
“I will not know until you ask.”
He took a deep breath. “Inglesbatch… is there something more to your relationship with him? I only ask because…”
The golden eyes flashed and she pulled her hand away. Charles could see, instantly, that he’d made a grave mistake. Avalyn took several steps back from him, her eyes blazing.
“What must you think of me if you must ask that question?” she hissed. “You know very well that my heart belongs to someone and it certainly is not Inglesbatch. Do you think I give my favors and emotions so freely to more than one man?”
He shook his head so hard that his jowls wobbled. “Nay, my lady, of course not. ’Tis just that Inglesbatch is always with you and your uncle told me that he carries feelings for you. I simply thought that…”
“You thought what?”
His ruddy face was scarlet. He put up his hands in surrender.
“My lady, I truly meant no offense. But your reluctance to wed has my mind uncertain and unsteady. My imagination is running wild with me, perhaps, but I truly never meant to slander you. I am simply looking for a reason for your resistance, foolish though it might be on my part.”
Her gaze lingered on him a moment longer before turning away. “I believe the continuation of this conversation can only do more damage,” she said stiffly. “If you would be so kind as to leave me, my lord, I will prepare for your feast.”
“Avalyn, please,” he said beseechingly. “I did not mean to insult you. I was asking an honest question.”
“And you received an honest answer.” She still did not look at him, pretending to busy herself with the jewelry box he had given her. “Good eve to you, my lord.”
With a heavy, heartfelt sigh, Charles turned for the door.
He turned to gaze at her lowered head, feeling sick inside.
He’d taken a great chance asking the question and received exactly what he had not hoped for; her animosity.
He was positive she hated him now and if that was the case, he couldn’t possibly do more damage than he already had.
In a surprising show of resolve, he spoke to her before he quit the room.
“It is my wish that we marry come the next full moon,” he said, his hand on the iron door latch. “That date is three weeks away come tomorrow. I will send word to your uncle.”
He didn’t give her time to argue, and Avalyn didn’t reply.
As the door shut softly with Charles’ departure, she felt an odd sense of relief.
Now she had a date, a target by which to make plans.
She and Brogan would have to be well on their way before that date.
They had less than three weeks. Three weeks and she would begin her new life with him.
A strange sense of excitement swept over her.
*
Charles wasn’t surprised when she didn’t appear at the feast. Inglesbatch, St. John, and Gervaise were already there, imbibing the fine port he had purchased last year on a trip to Lisbon.
He held the food as long as he dared but finally ordered everything served, and served it was in elaborate fashion.
He finally sent Barton up to the lady’s bower to discover what was taking her so long, but she sent Barton back to the great hall with orders to send Inglesbatch to her.
William, seated at the edge of the long dais, promptly put his chalice down and left the hall.
Charles watched the man go with a great deal of jealousy.
Brogan watched William leave with a certain amount of curiosity.
He was concerned that Avalyn was ill, having no idea of the conversation between her and Aubrey earlier.
He had been waiting with baited breath for her appearance, having suffered through an afternoon without seeing her.
He’d brought St. Alban with him to the feast, the old knight sitting quietly at his right.
St. Alban thought it risky enough to bring him into Aubrey’s stronghold, but Brogan saw nothing wrong with bringing his ‘father’ with him to the feast. Even now, the old man’s eyes surveyed the room; Brogan could focus only on Avalyn’s absence.
“You make yourself suspicious staring at the stairwell,” St. Alban said quietly as he lifted his chalice. “Pay no mind to where William went. Watch the room and speak with me instead.”
Brogan’s gaze returned to the table reluctantly. “What do you suppose is wrong?”
“If anything, William will take care of her. You mustn’t worry.”
Brogan drank deeply of the rich red Port; it was his third chalice and he was beginning to feel it in his veins. “Did you see the way Aubrey looks at William? There is no love for the man in his gaze.”
“I noticed,” St. Alban said casually. “I wonder what has happened.”
Brogan could only shake his head. “He behaved in the same fashion earlier in the stables when William was tending her horse. He does not like William.”
“Perhaps because William is sent by de Neville to protect the lady?” St. Alban wondered aloud. He shoveled a large bite of beef into his mouth. “Perhaps William has been making a nuisance of himself.”
“Doing what?”
St. Alban shrugged. “Perhaps keeping an amorous groom at bay?”
Brogan lifted an eyebrow, glaring at the old man.
But in the same breath, he knew that he could very well be correct.
William had promised Brogan that he would protect Avalyn, even if that meant protecting her from her betrothed.
Brogan didn’t know if he felt better or worse.
Having not been privy to knowing the activity between Avalyn and Aubrey over the past few weeks, he could only imagine what might have gone on.
St. Alban could read the man’s mind; it wasn’t difficult. Brogan had never learned to hide his feelings as true knights would have. He poured the man more wine.
“William will bring her to the feast, have no fear,” he said, attempting to shift the focus of conversation. “Meanwhile, has St. John given you your duties?”
Brogan took another drink, nodding, though his mind was still lingering on Avalyn. “I am in charge of the armory. I must inventory and repair the weapons.”
“Excellent,” the old man replied. “’Twill be an easy but exacting task.”
Brogan didn’t say any more. He wasn’t hungry, but St. Alban kept pushing his trencher at him, so he ate.
Over to his left, Aubrey and St. John were shoving food into their mouths, talking animatedly about something Brogan couldn’t quite hear.
Neither man had made a move to talk to him or St. Alban, of which he was grateful.
He didn’t feel like conversing. He wondered what was taking William so long when the knight suddenly reappeared, with Thel in tow, and went directly for Aubrey. Brogan’s ears perked.
“The lady does not feel well, my lord,” he said. “She begs your pardon for not attending your feast. She has sent her lady to bring her meal to her.”
Charles’ fat face was a mask of disappointment.
He knew why the lady was ill and he furthermore knew that he had caused it.
He shouldn’t have asked such a foolish question about her and Inglesbatch.
St. John had told him that he did not believe there was anything between the lady and her knight, and Charles should have believed him.
Furthermore, he should not have set a wedding date without her consent or input.
It had been wrong and impulsive of him. The courage he had felt so recently drained away, leaving a pliant and indecisive man in its wake.
“I see,” he said, having difficulty holding William’s gaze. He wondered if the lady had told the knight of his suspicions. “I do hope it is nothing serious.”
William shook his head; he had indeed heard of the baron’s question and it was a struggle not to let his distaste show. “Nothing serious that I could sense, my lord,” he said. “I am sure that tomorrow will see her well enough.”
There was nothing more for Charles to say, although St. John and William exchanged glances. St. John just shook his head, imperceptible though it might have been. He was coming to increasingly disapprove of the lady’s behavior, but it was not his place to say so. William went back to his seat.